A cup of tea and a rainy day
by Dr.Horus
Summary: On a rainy day Altaïr takes time to reflect on his worst mistake.


**I know, I know, I suck at writing titles.**

**Anyway, I wrote this a few days ago when I was feelin a little depressed from a particulary heart wrenching fanfic. It would seem a little masochistic to say "I hope you enjoy it" so I won't.**

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Altaïr sat quietly on the roof. He leaned back on his hands and looked to the sky, his eyes shut. A weak breeze rustled his white robes and tickled his face. On any other day he would have relished the feeling, but not today. He couldn't feel any joy on this day.

The assassin sighed and forced his amber eyes open. Altaïr knew he should drop down into the bureau below, but he was afraid to face what lay within. Eventually the need to complete his contract overruled his personal feelings. He sluggishly got to his feet and stood at the edge of the latticed roof. Quietly, so as not to disturb the occupant anymore than necessary, Altaïr climbed down the front of the fountain and dropped nimbly down to land on his feet.

The space he landed in was nice and familiar. A pile of cushions leaned against the wall with a soft rug underneath for sleeping. The light trickle of the fountain sounded nearby and the smell of incense spilled from the room inside.

Altaïr took a moment to mentally prepare himself before stepping into the actual bureau. At the counter, half hidden by a pile of books, stood Malik. His usually neat black hair was wild and stood up in odd places, as if he had just rolled out of bed. The rafiq looked tired and worn, like he hadn't slept well the nigt before. Altaïr took a step closer.

"Safety and Peace, Malik." he spoke softly. Malik lifted his head slowly.

"Oh...hello, Altaïr." the other said halfheartedly. "What do you need?" Altaïr was concerned by the lack of smack and attitude in his tone. The Malik he knew was always keen to make a snide remark or insult him in some way. Now he didn't seem to have spirit enough to muster such a retort.

Taking a look around the bureau one could see that it was not only Malik who was lacking. The room was in a terrible state of disorder, books were stacked in disorganized piles, pillows from outside were strew across the floor, and the place looked like it hadn't been cleaned in some time.

Malik cleared his throat, bringing Altaïr's attention back to the man. "Ah...yes. I need information on a man named Bakr Saab. From what I know he's a rich merchant that has been supplying the Templars." Altaïr's gaze wandered as he spoke, but continuously flicked back to the one before him.

Malik snapped the book he had been reading shut, sending up a cloud of dust, and gazed at Altaïr with a stony stare, although more seemed to be hiding behind the look. "You should look in the market of the middle and rich districts. He has been seen in those places as well as his workers." Malik informed the other dully. "Come back when you have more." The rafiq turned to the shelves behind him and idly sifted through their contents.

Altaïr reached out to him, but then, thinking better of it, turned to leave. He wished that he could say something, comfort his friend in some way, but words were never his strong suit. Instead he vaulted back up the fountain and away across the rooftops.

The assassin did the proper research on his target, discovering where he would be in order to strike, but he did so mechanically. Altaïr preformed the task like he had so many times before and didn't pay much attention to it, his mind being elsewhere. When he returned to Malik the man simply gave him a feather and let him be gone. The deed was done swiftly and so skillfully that no one knew the man was dead until Altaïr was far away.

By the time Altaïr had returned once more to the bureau the toll of the bells was being sounded throughout the city.

Inside Malik had managed to tidy up some but it was still not the pristine Altaïr was use to seeing.

Altaïr held up his blooded feather. "It is done." he said. "Bakr Saab lays dead in his own home." Malik nodded, excepting the words. He motioned to the door. "You should rest now, until the people settle again." Altaïr knew he should but he wished not to stay longer than he absolutely had too. Leaving the incense filled air of the indoors, Altaïr stepped into the fresh air and nestled down in the pile of cushions. He took his time undoing his weapons and storing them neatly aside. Then he tucked his knees up to his chest and watched the wall before him.

It had been a whole year now since Kadar's death. To the very day. Altaïr remembered that day all too well. He clearly remembered all of his mistakes, and thought of what he could have, should have, done to stop them. But instead he had thrown caution to the wind and let his pride lead him to self ïr recalled the young boy's face, praising him at his excellent kill. Kadar was just a novice, Malik had persuaded Al Mualim to let him come along to Solomon's temple. He had been so excited to have been invited on such an important mission. He didn't deserve the fate that faced him that day.

At these thoughts Altaïr was suddenly overcome with emotion. He tried to hold back but it was no use. All at once the tears came pouring down his face, and with them all the guilt and stupidity that Altaïr felt for his actions. Altaïr hid his face behind his hands and let it all come out. He felt like a child again, a child who had been scolded for his actions and sent to sit alone.

Malik lifted his head from his work, a curious sound tugging at his ear. It was quiet and barely audible, but there none the less. He moved around the counter and made his way to the source of the noise. Peeking around the doorway, Malik peered into the sheltered area outside. He was surprised at what he found. Altaïr sat huddled amongst a nest of pillows, his face in his hands, his body trembling. A soft sobbing emanating from him.

Unsure of what to do Malik inched forward, toward the wreck of an assassin. If Altaïr heard the man's approach he gave no indication. Reaching Altaïr, Malik crouched down beside him. He put his one hand on Altaïr's shoulder in some attempt to comfort him.

"I'm so sorry. " Altaïr murmured. "I'm sorry I've been such a fool." Malik's heart cracked at Altaïr's broken voice. He could hear such remorse and self hatred in his tone. He never wanted to hear Altaïr like this, even on the worst of days. He never wanted to see his friend so raw and fallen apart.

Malik took a deep breath, knowing what he had to do. It was something he had done for Kadar time and time again, and now he had to do it for Altaïr. He stuffed away his own feelings of sadness for the day and put on a brave face.

The solemn rafiq pulled Altaïr's hands away to reveal the man's face. Altaïr raised his head, his half lidded amber eyes puffy and red from the crying.

"Altaïr," Malik began sternly, but in an understanding way. "you must stop blaming yourself for what has happened in the past. You have redeemed yourself and must stop dwelling on such mistakes." Altaïr looked away sadly.

"How can I not blame myself? Wasn't it I who betrayed our presence that day? Wasn't it I who ran off and left you both for dead? How can I not dwell on such things? It was my fault..." his voice died in his throat and he let his head sag.

Malik could see that there was no talking Altaïr out of his current state so instead he simply enveloped the man in his one arm, pulling Altaïr against his own body. He lent Altaïr the comfort of a friend, of a brother, that he had once given to Kadar.

Altaïr leaned his head against Malik's shoulder. Malik could feel the assassin's body shake as more tears came. He desperately gripped at the back of Malik's robes and let his tears soak the front. Malik rested his chin on the other's head and stared blankly off into the distance. Altaïr completely fell apart in his friend's embrace and sobbed uncontrollably.

The feeling of another crying into his shoulder reminded Malik so much of his brother. He remembered when the younger would become so upset that the only way to express himself was through tears, and Malik would comfort him until he had calmed.

Thinking of his brother brought tears to his own eyes. It hadn't seemed so long ago that Kadar had been in his arms, and now he would never be again. Malik bit his lip, trying to hold back the rush of misery. He could feel his chin tremble despite his efforts. Before he knew it Malik's cheeks were coated in warm tears that fell into Altaïr's short brown hair.

The two companions held one another and cried for what seemed like an eternity to them. The sky above the two grew darker as time passed and a cold breeze picked up, matching their mood.

Malik was finally pulled out of his reverie at the cold wet drop on his head. He lifted his face to the sky and indifferently observed dark rain clouds had gathered. By now he and his brother had long since grown silent, leaving them with a sad quiet air.

Another rain drop fell on Malik's cheek, soothing the dry skin. His entire face felt taunt and tired from the crying. The rain began picking up in intensity and Malik knew in the back of his mind that they should get undercover. He pulled himself and Altaïr to their feet and led them inside.

"Do you want any tea?" Malik asked Altaïr, already headed for the tea pot. Altaïr nodded and sat in a chair in the corner. He curled up there wishing he could become nonexistent.

Several quiet minutes passed as Malik brewed tea and Altaïr listened to the downpour outside. When the tea was ready Malik brought two cups for them and a warm blanket. Altaïr helped carry the items to the doorway where the two settled. Altaïr wrapped the blanket around the two and took his tea.

Malik stared into the rain, ever fascinated by the falling water but too depressed to appreciate it today. Finishing his tea Malik set his cup aside. Feeling a sudden wind blow through the bureau, Malik pulled himself closer to Altaïr's warmth and rested his head against the other's. As time passed the two assassins slowly fell to sleep in each other's warm embrace. Both's thoughts of Kadar.


End file.
